To Wilson
by Wuchel1
Summary: A note left for Wilson after House decided to set things right again. CHARACTER DEATH
1. Chapter 1

_First of all I have to ask you to be kind to me in case you are going to read this humble piece of work of mine. This is my very first attempt at fanfiction and the next mitigating circumstance (I hope): English is not my first language and if you think I should rather stay with my first language than let me know. _

_And then, I guess I should let you know, that I haven't seen any episodes of the third season of House, yet, because where I live we are still stuck on the second season. But as an obsessed fan I dutifully read the recaps on and this story is supposed to take place after Wilson shut down his practice and threw House out of his office. _

_I'm probably writing totally out of character and I know that the subject is kind of touchy, but the idea of House actually deciding to act on his friend's behalf just wouldn't leave me alone and why I have him do what I have him do? Well, beats me._

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. I won't even delude myself that I could think up something like the great characters and stories on House.

**Warning: Character Death**

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I'm drunk.

This is the only way I could have ended up writing this. I'm totally wasted, otherwise I would have never found the courage to do so. Though, I'm painfully aware that, at least to you, I owe an explanation for my actions tonight. Well then, no turning back now. We are both in for quite a ride.

Today has been a special day. Today has been the end of my life.

But, don't worry, it did not come as quite as shocking a surprise to me as one might think it would have. No. Because when I got up this morning I was quite aware of what was to be.

Actually, I hadn't really slept at all last night. You see, the entire night I pondered about the things you said, the things I said, the things I did. And, finally, the things I had to do.

I sat at my piano, but I didn't play anything. I wanted to, but then I just kept on staring at that small bottle on which my life has been dependent for the last couple of years. I say that in the most negative way possible. Believe me, I never did like the idea of being an addict, but the alternative wasn't that endearing, either.

I don't think I've ever seen you that angry and hopeless before and I have to admit, it kind of shocked me. The calm, passionate James Wilson all shook up and furious - I thought that was something I would never get to see. And, God knows, I've tried to instigate you for years, but somehow I didn't quite enjoy it as much as I thought I would.

So, there I was, thinking about what I had done. And, you know me, once I start thinking, picked up a thought, I can't let it rest until every possible angle has been analysed and dissected. It's a blessing and a curse. Probably more of a curse right now.

Well, what can I say? Frankly, I had known what the conclusions of my thoughts would be even before I started thinking them, but I've been busy pushing them and anything else I didn't want to be aware of as far away from my mind as possible.

I screwed up, Jimmy.

There's no other way of looking at it. I screwed up. Big. Time.

And, if this wasn't already bad enough, I finally let myself realize that I have been pushing you ahead between me and my responsibilities, without wanting to see the ramifications. Deliberately not seeing what this has cost you.

Well, I see now, and maybe I'm not as drunk, after all.

This is going to come as a kind of a shock to you, but I do have a conscience and it's been telling me that I've been treating you pretty lousy, presuming that you are my best friend. I really like to think of you as such, but I'm sure you wouldn't agree that I qualify in this category at this moment.

Ok, my conscience dictates me to say this: I'm _honestly_ ashamed of what I did and also that I'm not man enough to apologize to you face to face. But you know me, I've never been big on the teary confessions and the heartfelt forgivings. Gee, just ask "you know who".

The least thing I could do was try to set things right again. You don't deserve the way you've been treated. Even the ducklings don't. So I did what you've told me to do. I went to see Tritter.

I told him everything. I told him how I stole your prescription pad and forged your signature and how you absolutely did not have any dealings with any of this.

Good news, he believed me. You should have seen him with that grin of triumph on his ugly face. God, I hate that man. Even more than all of my clinic patients combined and that should tell you a lot of the degree of hatred I feel for that … (I'll leave this up to you to fill in the blanks. Use the most colourful language you can think of, and I'm pretty sure you'll get close to what I'm thinking of right now).

The only thing I didn't tell him is why I did it. But that doesn't really matter, because even I'm not that sure anymore. It was stupid, I know that. I knew that. But I just didn't want to have to admit that the ketamine treatment hadn't worked. Because telling you or Cuddy would have meant that my hopes had been shattered. Again.

Your hopes probably, too.

Anyway, I told him the parts he needed to know and he promised me that he will back off of you. And the ducklings. If he doesn't do it I swear I'll make God strike him down. Or Satan. Whoever draws the short straw and has to take me in.

Tritter quite amiably assured me that if I don't have to go to jail for this, which might well be, since it being my first real offence, he still will make sure that my medical licence will be revoked. And I'm pretty confident he'll be as dogged with this as he'd been with everything else. I wouldn't expect any less of him. I mean, you can say whatever you want about that bastard, but you can't deny that he's nothing but thorough. You ought to know.

Even though I'm not sure if this licence business actually needs any of his support. Again, it was stupid.

I was rather surprised that he actually let me leave the precinct tonight. I would have bet everything I own that he'd been dying to lock me up and throw away the key. At least for a little while. Well, I guess with this he's unnecessarily telling me that he's gotten me. Hook, line and sinker.

Well, I suppose now I have to come to the point, where I tearfully explain why I decided to do what I'm going to do. The funny thing is I don't feel anything at all. I guess part of me has been dead for quite a while now and today Tritter has killed the other part by taking away what I've lived for the last couple of years. That would be my job, in case you weren't sure (don't worry Tritter's left me my stash of porn and I left it to you in my will).

I know, that you know, that I had definitely thought about taking this route out of the pain at least once before. And even though Tritter's people have managed to take away all my "secret stashes" they did not find my "_secret_ secret stash". It pays off to be prepared for any circumstances.

Well, there is a song by a group called the Mad Caddies (you should listen to them, they aren't half bad) that pretty much describes the situation I'm in right now:

_I'm fucked up with nothing ahead by the end_

_I know that I'll never get sober_

_And I'm fed up with this miserable life after death_

_I know that I've taken my last breath_

That pretty much sums it all up. There's only an empty shell left of me and I just don't want to go on living even more miserable than I was before. Besides, I'd promised myself that I would end this charade of a life as soon as I wasn't going to be able to do my job anymore. Hence the "secret secret stash".

Well, I think I've covered all the sentimental crap one's supposed to put into such a note. All that's left for me to say, and you better savor this moment, because this is going to be the only time I'll ever say anything like this (c'mon Jimmy, humor me with a smile), but I've been grateful for having you as a friend. I know that I never really showed it, but you can take my word for it.

Don't mourn me Jimmy, for I fancy thinking that I'm going to a better place, where there is no more pain. I'd really like that. And no idiotic patients. I'd _really_ like that!

I'll see you there, of that I'm sure. But take your time getting there.

Now I'm just going to play the piano one last time.

_Greg_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi guys. I know it's been … quite a long time. I never thought I would actually add anything more to my little story. But thanks to ljubavmoj, who kindly requested a continuation of the first chapter, I proudly present to you Chapter 2!_

_(English is still not my first language, but I tried to keep my mistakes to a minimum) _

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Disclaimer: They are not mine!

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The hallways were quiet. That's all they seemed to be lately to her. Quiet and subdued. She found herself more often passing by his dark and empty office on her rounds through her hospital. Most of the times, she didn't even remember getting of the elevator at this floor, but she always ended up here, in front of the glass wall that encased the abandoned rooms of the hospital's diagnostic department. No one had been in these rooms for weeks. The fellows had gladly accepted their re-assignment to other departments of the hospital for the time being. At least there hadn't been a lot of arguing, just quiet acceptance. What was going to happen to them or the diagnostic department for that matter she didn't know. Truth be told, she didn't even want to think about it. Not yet. Her memories of the moments were the proverbial shit hit the fan were still too fresh in her mind. Instead she just found herself regularly staring at an empty office through a glass wall, wishing that there had been something she could have done different to prevent this from happening.

But today, something was different. Today she could see the silhouette of someone standing inside the room where the three fellows and sometimes even her used to be gleefully "tortured". For the first time in weeks she put her hands on the glass door leading inside and pushed it open. She took a look around the room, noting that nothing had changed in here since the last time she'd been in here, delivering the bad news to his fellows. Taking a deep breath she chased away that unwanted memory and stepped inside, closer to the figure standing there. She took in the dejected hunch of the person's shoulders, the droop to the head. Everything in that posture screamed of a most violent sorrow that made her heart ache even harder for the man standing in front of her. Even though she felt a great sense of pain and loss, she couldn't imagine what Wilson must be going through. He'd been putting up a brave face for the last couple of weeks, declaring that it had only been a matter of time for things to end this way, but she knew him better than this. She knew he must have been beating himself up for what happened for weeks now.

She took another step closer to him, trying not to startle him, she called out to him softly. "Wilson?"

He turned his head to her and she caught the pain in his eyes before he could blink it away. "What are you doing in here?" she asked. Being here must be killing him, she thought as he looked away from her once again. She looked at him more closely, noting the dark circles under his eyes.

"Two days." His voice was soft, so very soft, that at first she wasn't sure that she heard him correctly. She wasn't sure what he meant by that, but before she could ask him he spoke again, still not looking at her but somewhere in the distance.

"He'd been dead for two days before anyone bothered to go looking for him. Before I …" his voice cracked and he stopped speaking. He pressed his lips together trying to stop the trembling in his lower lip. She put a hand on his elbow, trying to make him look at her again. "James …" she trailed off. What could she possibly say?

Wilson turned his head, looking her right in the eyes. Not even trying to hide the pain in his eyes anymore, imploring her to understand what he was going through.

"I was his friend, Lisa! I should have known!" he took in a shaky breath. "I should have seen the signs."

It hurt her so much seeing him like this. She tightened her hold on his arm. "You couldn't have known, James."

"The hell I couldn't!" He turned away from her forcefully, disengaging her hold around his arm. He put his hands on his hips, staring out the window into the darkness of the night.

"All his crazy behaviour during the last couple of weeks?" he shook his head. "C'mon Lisa, you know House as well as I do. No way could he actually ask for our help. But that's exactly what he did. A huge cry for help and I didn't care. Too busy licking my own wounds." the last part he spat with contempt for himself. Cuddy had to bite back the words forming on her mind. _Wounds HE put there! _But she knew, that was not what Wilson needed to hear right now. Right now he needed to vent his own frustration, and maybe after that they both could start healing. So she waited for him to sort his thoughts, just making sure he knew that she was there for him.

The tension in his shoulders deflated and he hung his head once more. His voice was back to being soft, having lost all it's contempt. "He was scared, Lisa. Scared out of his mind." He looked up and gave a low, humourless chuckle. "Did you know that I threw him out of my office that day? God, I was so mad."

This time she couldn't help herself. She kept her voice low as she said "You had every right to be, James. He used you, don't you see?" Wilson looked at her now, but she refused to meet his gaze. This had to be said, no matter how much it hurt. "He didn't care what was going on with you. Everything Gregory House ever did was all about him. Even his death!" She heard Wilson drawing in a breath, but nevertheless she went on. Her voice close to a whisper. "He didn't care what he left behind."

"You are wrong." Cuddy turned to look at him. Not minding that Wilson was able to read her pain as well as she was able to read his. She wanted to believe him.

He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with what looked like handwriting on it. He looked at it, but didn't offer her to read it. Clutching it like a lifeline. "He did care. And he was sorry. I just wish …"

Yeah, she too wished things could have been different. But they hadn't been and not for a lack of them trying to change the – let's face it – inevitable outcome. True, it still hurt. A lot. But, God, they tried so hard. She just needed Wilson to listen to her now. To understand that it was not his fault. She made sure that he was looking at her now. Following what she needed him to hear. What she needed to repeat to herself nearly everyday.

"James, you did everything you could to get him off his self-destructing path. And I'm 100-percent certain it would have ended way sooner than it did, if it hadn't been for you. You tried, James. God knows you tried." She realized that she was almost pleading with him. The corners of his mouth twitched into what seemed to be a small smile. The look in his eyes softened. He took hold of her hands, completely facing her now, stating "We both tried."

The small smile began to mirror on her face. "Yes, we both did. But in the end it was his decision to accept what help we offered or not. Just don't blame yourself for what reasons Greg came up with in that screwed up mind of his to justify the things he did. Just … don't." She was pleading again. Both of their eyes shone with unshed tears as Wilson pulled her into a tight embrace. It was hard keeping the tears at bay, and Lisa realized she didn't want to any longer. She cried silently into Wilson's shoulder, knowing he did the same. Both drawing strength from one another to get through their loss.

The next time Wilson spoke, she more felt it than actually heard what he said.

"I miss him. I miss that … manipulative son of a bitch so much." That elicited a teary laugh from her. "I know you do … I do, too." She tightened their embrace a little more before releasing and stepping away from him. She knew that it was going to be hard for Wilson to accept that the one person he tried most to save just didn't want to be saved. Hard for both of them. She took is hand in hers and gave it a squeeze.

"C'mon, James. Let's go home." He nodded and turned with her to leave. They both didn't look back when the glass door closed behind them.

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_So, this is it. Please let me know what you think. _

_Again I'd like to thank _ljubavmoj _for encouraging me to write this!_


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